Lorraine Read online

  Sure enough, a group of men waited to greet them. Laughing and joking with one another, they lugged all the trunks and cases. Lorraine walked with Prudence.

  Prudence stopped short and grabbed Lorraine’s arm. “Can that beautiful mansion be where we’ll be staying?”

  Lorraine was shocked at the large plantation-style home’s appearance in this rustic setting. “She’s heading straight there and the men are, too. My goodness, when she said she had room for us, I never dreamed we’d be staying in a place like that.”

  Prudence pivoted so her view was straight down dusty the main street. “The town looks all right. Not too large, but with enough stores to supply whatever we might need.”

  Lorraine took time to scan Tarnation laid out below them. Most of the buildings were frame. A dust devil whirled down the street.

  At the other end of town, a white church spire rose above the rooftops. On each side of the main street, rows of businesses and homes made a pleasant scene. Houses of varied sizes stood along several other streets at each side of the main thoroughfare.

  Behind and on the west side of Lydia’s home, the mountain rose. Scraggly bushes, small oaks, cedar, and a few large trees covered the hillside. East was the town. Rolling to the south, lush grass grew and cattle grazed in the distance.

  Lorraine linked her arm with Prudence’s. “We are definitely in a foreign land. Only Lydia’s house reminds me of Virginia.”

  Prudence laughed. “Not the part where I lived. Believe me, this will be a huge change for the better.”

  After the men had deposited the luggage in the foyer and had been graciously sent on their way, Lorraine was able to walk across the parlor and inspect the beautiful curving staircase to the second floor. She was eager to learn where she’d be sleeping and to view the rest of this lovely home.

  Lydia clapped her hands, her signal for attention. “Ladies, time to draw for room assignments and roommates.”

  Lorraine and Prudence drew the same number, which relieved Lorraine. She had bonded with the shy woman on the trip. The two took their valises to their allotted quarters.

  Prudence plopped on the bed. “My stars, I’ve never been in such a pretty bedroom.”

  The walls were papered in pale green with stripes of pastel flowers. A coverlet on the bed was the same shade piped in dark green. A chair upholstered in the darker color stood by a graceful table, atop which a white lamp waited for evening.

  Heavy drapes parted to reveal white lace sheers gently rippling in the breeze.

  Lorraine peeked out the window. “What a lovely garden.”

  Prudence joined her to share the view. “That’s unexpected after the terrain we passed. Perhaps I can grow my herbs here after all. I brought a few seeds from home.”

  “I brought a lot for flowers and vegetables. I hoped to trade with others I meet.”

  “I don’t intend to sound selfish, but I’ll keep mine because I don’t have many. I’ll have to save them to grow the plants I need for healing.”

  Lorraine unpacked the last item from her valise and closed the drawer. “Are you going to rest?”

  Prudence set her carpetbag on the floor and scooted it under the bed. “Tempting, but I want to find a drink of water and the outhouse.”

  Lorraine rubbed her hands together. “Let’s go. I want to explore this house, too, don’t you?”

  “Every corner. I’m having trouble convincing myself this isn’t a dream.” Prudence trailed her fingers along the door jamb as she went through. “I have to touch things to believe this is real.”

  Lorraine’s battered backside continued to ache. “The stage ride should have done that. My bones are still protesting. I understand why Sophie said she’s not leaving again until the railroad reaches Tarnation.”

  Before the two could explore on their own, Lydia led everyone on a tour of her home.

  Afterward, Lydia faced her guests in the large parlor. “Our first reception will be on Saturday. I’ve invited sixteen bachelors, but one can’t attend. That leaves fifteen men for you to get acquainted with and form a preliminary opinion.”

  Cassandra asked, “What if we don’t like any of them or if none of them like us?”

  “If you don’t find someone who appeals to you right away, please don’t give up. Many times we must come to know someone better before the bonds of friendship deepen.”

  Angeline asked, “Is that how it happened for you and your husband?”

  Lydia smiled and gazed wistfully at the wall. Clearly, she was lost in her memories. “Not exactly. Mama and my sister and I stood on the balcony as Union soldiers advanced. We were terrified, of course, for we’d heard stories of terrible things at the hands of men from each side. We each had a small pistol to aim at our heart if we were attacked.

  “Riding at the front of the soldiers was a fine figure. He rode right up to the steps. He dismounted and looked up, swept off his hat, and bowed. He said, ‘Ladies, you have no reason to fear me or my men. Please join me in the parlor.’ We did as he asked, but in spite of his words we were terrified. Each of us kept hold her pistol in her pocket.

  “When we met him up close, he had genteel manners and a haunted look in his beautiful eyes. He assured us that neither he nor his men would harm anyone on our land. I boldly exacted a promise that our colored women would not be molested.

  “I was captivated by him immediately. He was near my mother’s age, but I set my cap for him that day. Before he left a few weeks later, he and I were wed.”

  Lorraine leaned forward. “What of your mother and sister?”

  “My sister married one of Will’s officers and they live near Richmond. After the war, Mama couldn’t pay the exorbitant taxes and went to live with her sister in Lynchburg. She never recovered from losing my father and their home. She passed away four years ago.”

  Lydia clapped her hands. “My, my, I took off on a tangent. Back to our plans, ladies. You’ll have a chance to meet our bachelors Saturday afternoon. At each day’s main meal, you’ll take turns serving as hostess to give each of you ample opportunity to hone your skills.”

  Prudence sighed. “That’s a relief. I lived in a small cabin near a tiny village and have no knowledge of how to act when entertaining guests properly.”

  Lydia favored her with a sweet smile. “No need to worry, Prudence. By the time you choose the man you wish to marry, you’ll be accomplished and able to manage a household efficiently.”

  Seated on an elegant couch, Lorraine kept her hands folded in her lap. She knew how to run a home and preside at dinners and parties, though her home had been more modest than this one. Her concern was in finding the right man to marry.

  She had her publishing money, and surely she’d be able to increase that amount with future sales. What would help would be a clever series about Tarnation or the people she encountered here. She would never embarrass anyone with her writing. Yet, she’d have to think of subjects to entice her publisher and increase her royalties. In the meantime, she’d continue writing and remain alert to opportunities.

  ***

  Lorraine would have sworn a steel band constricted her chest as she lined up with the other young women to greet the men who would attend the reception. Her nervous hands smoothed the front of her emerald faille dress. Many people had told her that her eyes were her best feature and the fabric deepened her green eyes’ color.

  Lydia’s chubby housekeeper-cook, Mrs. Murphy, opened the door to admit the waiting bachelors. The scent of hair oil and soap swirled around Lorraine. Several men were handsome, one or two were plain, but all were well-groomed and smiling. Would one of these become her husband?

  Striving to remember each guest’s name, Lorraine associated something about him to remind her. Mr. Drummond had a drumming voice, Mr. Tucker tucked his watch into his pocket, and on until she met Mr. Grant Pettigrew.

  Mr. Pettigrew held her hand overlong. “Nice to meet you, Miss Stuart. I hope you’re enjoying Tarnation.”

  �
�Certainly, Mr. Pettigrew. Do you live in town or in the country?” Grant Pettigrew . . . she connected in a snap that he had a mustache like President Ulysses Grant wore. However, this man was much nicer looking than the President.

  “Here in town. I own the newspaper, the Tarnation Gazette. Perhaps you’ve read a copy.”

  “I have and I was impressed with your description of national as well as local events. Wasn’t the sinking of that British steamship off Nova Scotia terrible?”

  “Yes, over five hundred on the White Star died. I was lucky to get the wire as it happened.”

  Here was her chance. “Do you ever run stories other people submit?”

  He shook his head. “Can’t afford to. I pay a lot for the telegraphed news from New York but I want to be current. I do the local news reporting myself.”

  Disappointment sunk her plans. “Well, you do an admirable job.”

  The man behind Mr. Pettigrew nudged him. “Keep the line moving, Pettigrew. You can’t monopolize this lovely redhead.”

  Mr. Pettigrew frowned at the man. “Sorry, Traveland.” He nodded to Lorraine. “Perhaps I can speak with you later.”

  When the last guest had made his way from the receiving line to the refreshment table, Lorraine drifted around the room. She hoped she appeared casual as she searched for the newspaperman.

  Mr. Pettigrew showed up at her side. “May I get you some punch, Miss Stuart? And the sandwiches are delicious.”

  “Thank you, I’ll walk with you. Mrs. Murphy is a wonderful cook, though we each helped with the preparations. I’ll admit I sneaked a sandwich earlier but I wouldn’t mind another.”

  “Each person in Tarnation enjoys being invited to an event at Lydia’s. She’s an excellent hostess and the food is always superb.”

  “Will you write this reception up for the newspaper?”

  He grimaced. “I’ve been deliberating. Since not every man in town was invited, I don’t want to cause hard feelings. Perhaps I’ll wait until she has a dance, which my invitation says will be next Saturday. She’s invited everyone in the area to that.”

  “How considerate, but I agree that would be more tactful. What about the fact that seven women arrived in Tarnation?”

  He grinned. “Already written, though I may add to the article now that I’ve met each of you. I know you’re all from Virginia, but that’s about the limit of your background that I’ve heard.”

  “Miss Angeline Chandler is from Missouri, but the rest of us are from Virginia. Most lived in small towns near Richmond but I believe Miss Ross is from the city. Perhaps I could compose an article on each of the seven of us and give it to you.”

  He stared down at her as if in distaste. “That’s kind, but no thank you. I fear women fill their writing with adjectives and gushing statements.”

  A bolt of white hot anger shot through her. “Why, Mr. Grant. Isn’t that a bit . . . prejudiced? Not all men write alike, so it’s hardly fair to suggest that all women do.”

  “Perhaps, but I speak from experience. I worked for a major newspaper in Chicago. The only stories women wrote were society and gardening, things like that.”

  “I believe you’re being unfair. I’ll bet I could write a story and you wouldn’t be able to tell whether it was written by a man or a woman.” She determined right then to do that. She’d show Mr. Grant Pettigrew how well a woman could write.

  He shook his head. “I sincerely doubt that, Miss Stuart. Please, I don’t wish to antagonize you so let’s talk of something else. Have you viewed the garden?”

  Still seething, Lorraine forced a smile. “Yes, I can see it from the bedroom window and find it lovely. I brought seeds from home to plant my own garden once I’m settled.”

  “I admire someone who plans ahead. What are your favorite flowers?”

  She took a deep breath hoping to induce calm. “Roses, but those that I grow from seed are daisies, hollyhocks, and larkspur. I love violets, too, and Lydia . . . Mrs. Harrison has said she’ll let me have a start from hers.”

  “Everyone calls her Lydia. At least, those who are friends with her.”

  His remark startled her. “I would have thought she’d be good friends with all the residents.”

  “There are those who’re jealous, especially a few older women. They insist she married William for his money.” He shook his head. “He died soon after I arrived but you only had to observe them together to realize they were very happy together.”

  “She’s told us how she met him. You could see the love shining from her face when she spoke. I know she must miss him terribly.”

  “No doubt, but we expect her to marry Adam, the sheriff. That is, if he ever gets over the idea he isn’t good enough for her.” His eyes widened and he colored. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be repeating tales like one of the older women I mentioned.”

  “You didn’t say anything bad, so I don’t think that’s really gossiping.” They’d reached the four-foot-high whitewashed adobe fence that separated Lydia’s garden from the mountain.

  Lorraine gestured at the sparsely covered hillside. “Isn’t the contrast between this side of the wall and that amazing?”

  He leaned on the fence’s wide top. “I was used to lush landscapes when I came here. This was quite a change but I’ve grown to love the area.”

  “This is a remote town. How did you come to decide on Tarnation as a place for your business and home?”

  “Zane Evans, the man who owns the freight company, is an old friend. He suggested I come here. He knew I wanted to start my own newspaper and told me Tarnation was a perfect place. He predicted the town would grow a lot when the railroad came through.”

  “When will that be?”

  He pursed his lips as if pondering for a couple of seconds. “Probably not for three to five years, but it will come through. The local ranchers and businessmen are working hard to convince rail executives.”

  “Apparently I came at a good time. I hope to be settled in my own home long before the railroad arrives.”

  “I’m sure you will be if that’s your wish. With only seven women and the fifteen men here plus others in town, you’ll be wed in no time.”

  She hoped that was true. “Only if I find the right man. Other people may marry for fondness or merely to have a companion, but I’m going to hold out for love.”

  “Guess that’s what most of you young ladies want.” A wistful expression crossed his face. “I wouldn’t mind falling in love myself. With the odds against me, I’d probably fall for a woman who’s interested in someone else.”

  She took his arm as they walked back to the house. “Aw, poor Mr. Pettigrew. You look so downtrodden that I almost feel sorry for you. Almost.”

  He smiled down at her. “Have a care, Miss Stuart. You’ll hurt my sensitive feelings.”

  “Hmm, why do I doubt you?”

  When they entered the house, several men had left and others were bidding Lydia farewell.

  Mr. Pettigrew bowed to her. “I apologize for monopolizing you, but I enjoyed the time we spent together.”

  A man she thought was Zane Evans clapped Mr. Pettigrew on the shoulder. “We’ve almost outstayed our welcome, Grant.”

  Lorraine watched as the two friends said goodbye to Lydia before leaving.

  Prudence stopped beside her. “You certainly spent a lot of time with that one man. He must have been interesting.”

  “Fascinating, but also annoying. Thinks women can’t write for publication without gushing adjectives.”

  Prudence giggled. “What a thing to say to you of all people.”

  Casting a look around, Lorraine pulled her aside. “Shhh. You’re the only one here besides Lydia and Rachel who knows.”

  “I don’t understand why you want to keep your success a secret. I’d be telling the world if I’d published stories in Frank Leslie’s Magazine and Frank Leslie’s Weekly Newspaper plus the New York Times and other places. Heavens, I’m rooming with a celebrity.”

  Lorraine
tapped a finger against her chin. “I need a way to prove to that man I’m a good writer. Wait until he reads something of mine and doesn’t know a woman wrote it.”

  “I expect he has, don’t you? I’ll bet he subscribes to both of the Frank Leslie publications. Wouldn’t it be funny to find out he enjoyed a story before he learned you wrote it?”

  Lorraine only smiled in answer, but she shared Prudence’s opinion. She’d bet Grant Pettigrew had read many stories by women and didn’t realize he had. Like her, many other women writers used initials or a man’s name as a pseudonym. She wondered if Mr. Pettigrew had read L. S. Trueharte’s work.

  Chapter Three

  Monday afternoon, Lorraine gathered up the letters she’d written yesterday and the story she’d composed. In the hallway, she encountered Prudence.

  “I’m going to the mercantile. Would you like to accompany me?”

  “Let me get my purse. There are a couple of things I’d like if they aren’t too costly. I imagine everything here is more expensive than we’re used to because of having to be hauled so far.”

  The two friends walked the few blocks toward the businesses.

  Lorraine inhaled and briefly raised her face to the sun. “I’ve never seen the sky such a deep blue.”

  “Neither have I, but this sure is a different landscape to what I’m used to. My small cabin was surrounded by tall trees where lots of critters lived. But, my village was smaller than Tarnation.”

  “I believe I’m going to like living here. I hope we both find the man of our dreams. You still thinking about the doctor?”

  Prudence’s smile was saucy. “Might be. At least I’d know my mother-in-law would be nice.”

  “Sophie is kind and fun, isn’t she? Who wouldn’t love to have her in the family? I wish I didn’t prefer that ornery newspaper man. Isn’t life strange? Seven women meet the same men, but we see them differently.”

  “That’s a good thing, Lorraine. Think of the cat fights and sadness if we all wanted the same one.”